Greenpoint
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Culture on the Cheap
30-03 Newtown Avenue Is Ready For The Holidays!
Some of you might recall my post earlier this month when I confessed to having a fit of Astorian demolition envy.
Well, a very astute observer, New York Shitty commenter and fellow D.O.B. critic vintagejames noted:
The devil is in the details. The demolition permit for 30-03 Newtown Ave. is for a 1-story building; the one being taken down has two. Also, look at the demolition checklist. Code A11 is for 5 day notice to adjoining owners. Was that done? Those wonderful people who undermined the foundation of the building that I live in did not bother with that little item, although the permit at bisweb said it was filed. In keeping with their mantra, the DOB swept the issue under the rug.
I beg to differ, James. The fine folks at First Class Wrecking got their facts straight and received a demolition permit for a two story house at the aforementioned address the very same day! Not that it really matters much; 30-03 Newtown Avenue is a one story structure nowadays. What’s more, a nice Christmas wreath adorns the front door.
Season’s greetings!
Good will towards men!
And Santa, please lock the door when you leave.
Miss Heather
Anyone Know of An Apartment For Rent?
Filed under: Area 51
Yesterday I received a disconcerting email from my buddy Noel, the chap who was responsible for helping me share the gift of pervy Polka with the masses. He writes:
i was informed today by my landlord that my house (on Green Street) has been sold, will soon be demolished to become (probably) condos, and we all must vacate by jan 6th. boy, this makes my day. too bad because i like GP. and too bad because i probably can’t afford to find another affordable place here!
Just what this neighborhood needs: more rental property being razed to build condos. Ordering someone to vacate on the heels of the holiday season is pretty damned rotten as well.
Noel (and his roommate’s) price range is ~$1,200 a month for a two bedroom. Granted, this figure is a little low— but I cannot shake the feeling there’s a suitable rent-stabilized apartment somewhere in the Garden Spot in that will fit the bill. If anyone knows of some digs that fit the above requirements, please post them in the comments. Let’s try to help a fellow Greenpointer (and all-around nice guy) find a new home.
Miss Heather
The Queensboro Kitten
Filed under: Area 51
Meet Jeff. I learned about this remarkable little guy from my buddy Lisacat. Here is his story as written by the woman who found him: Shawn, a BARC Cat Loft volunteer.
Jeff Bridges is the kitten I found while I was running over the Queensboro Bridge Thursday morning. How the hell he got on the pedestrian walkway of the bridge–a long, long fall on the right, eight lanes of traffic on the left and non-stop on-ramps at either end is anyone’s guess. But there he was, scampering toward Manhattan with no intention of letting himself be caught. Pretty much all the other options besides somebody grabbing him were certain death, so I went after him.
After a short pursuit in which I was afraid I would chase him either over the side or into traffic, I caught him trying to hide under a railing. I had to reach in at an angle and my grip was awkward. I think only my shelter experience kept me from letting go when he panicked and started biting my hand like his life depended on it. It really hurt and it bled a lot. But I just hung on until I could get a good grip scruffing him, then maintained that very hard scruff (ouch, it must have hurt him) with one hand while I rifled through some construction workers’ stuff with the other hand to find the paint can I ended up putting him in. I grabbed a scrap of plywood to put over it.
The construction workers, who were fairly far away, saw only some frenzied woman ransacking their stuff, and came lumbering over to challenge me. I had to explain it all to them and keep them from lifting up the board to look in. Then I walked the little guy off the bridge, hailed a cab with my foot and prayed the fumes in that paint can weren’t going to kill him. The can, it turned out, was old enough that fumes weren’t an issue. But it’s not like I had time to think about that up there on the bridge with probably less than a minute or two before he would have somehow managed to squirm away from me. You can see the print on the paint can, which actually says Queensboro Bridge, in some of the photos. You can also see the band-aids on my fingers, which are fine now.
At first I assumed he might be feral, but it turns out he’s a total purring sweetheart who obviously has had a great deal of handling and affection. He’s about 7 weeks old, appears to be in good health, and is negative for feline AIDS and leukemia. He is weaned and uses the litterbox. I have treated him for fleas and worms and will be giving a distemper shot and having him neutered shortly.
Anyone who is interested in adopting him should contact me directly, not the shelter. There will be an adoption fee of $50 to $100 depending on how long he stays with me and how much the vet work costs. I will require an adoption contract and I will do a home visit and reference check. I strongly prefer to place him in a home with at least one other cat or kitten, but will consider letting him go solo if there are gushing references from people I know.
Those of you who are interested in giving this Evel Knieval of kittycatdom a home can contact his foster mother by clicking here. Be sure to check out the re-enactment of his jaunt on the 59th Street Bridge on Lisacat’s Flickr page too. It is very cute. As is this photo of Jeff posing in the paint can that whisked him away to his new “home”.
To close on a related note, BARC will be hosting its “Bowling for BARC” fund raiser tomorrow night at The Gutter.
Why not bowl a few rounds, have fun and help some animals in need? Bowling is one of my favorite sports: it can be played without putting down one’s beer.
Miss Heather
Photo Credit: Lisacat
The Rat King, Revisited
Anyone who has lived in southeastern Greenpoint for any appreciable amount of time knows who the rat man is. For those of you who don’t live in this hallowed corner of the Garden Spot, I’ll tell you. He’s the guy who lives in this house.
The reason he is called the rat man is he used to keep them as pets on his property. One person told me he even saw this dude’s cat and a rat eat out of the same food dish once. Amazing. Anyway, as you can imagine, his new neighbors took issue with his furry little friends and the lot was baited.
No worries, he has since taken to pigeons.
And they have taken a fancy to him.
It just goes to show that you can’t keep a good man down. I don’t know why there is all this talk of New York Shitty creating a Pigeon Czar. We already have one. His name is Vinny and he lives on Kingsland Avenue.
Miss Heather
P.S.: If the Park Slope pigeon killer is reading this you better watch out. When I tell the rat man about your antics, he’s gonna get super pissed. Don’t fuck with the rat man.
Feel Good Super of the Year: 223 Devoe Street
I read this post on Curbed last week and was mystified. The “ostensible” S(t)uperintendent of my apartment building rarely leaves notes in my apartment building. Unless of course he is faced with a visit from the Department of Buildings at the behest of Marty Markowitz and a building full of very angry tenants. In which case his usual apathy turns to sanguine (and illiterate) written apology.
Gawker found the above missive amusing. One year (numerous HOT baths) later I do as well. Though I would have liked getting credit for this photographic memento of my misery.
As of the writing of this post I have heat and hot water— but no intercom. The brain trust who saw fit to install a HVAC exhaust unit in the space above the foyer of my apartment building severed the cables. They did a pretty bad job. I am not an expert on such matters, but when the ceiling gracing the aforementioned foyer collapses due to being deluged with condensation I think it is safe to assume incompetence was at play.
As Strother Martin wisely said in Cool Hand Luke:
What we’ve got here is… failure to communicate.
My apartment building is the benchmark for failed communication. By design. We have no on-site Super. He, his old lady, cousins, aunts and nieces flew the coop a long time ago. They knew a dump when they saw one and left.
As a consequence my fellow tenants and I are refugees on a rent-stabilized life boat floating in a sea of condo-fying land sharks. Our domicile/raft lists in accordance to the caprice of our “Superintendent”. Occasionally one of his hired “help” will endeavor to punch a hole in it— and that’s usually when we call the 311. Or 911. But I digress.
Yesterday afternoon I found an attempt at superintendent/tenant communication that made me feel so good I simply had to pass it along.
Who is the Super of this building?
More importantly, what are his (or her) salary requirements and is he (or she) willing to move to Greenpoint?
Miss Heather
Oh My God!
Today is going to be a pretty quiet day here at New York Shitty. Among other things, my husband was called to go into work at 10:00 p.m. last night and didn’t get home until 6:30 this morning. That said, I want to give a shout-out to Queens Crap for giving me a lot of blog love last weekend. I would also like to thank them for giving me the biggest laugh I have had in a very long time.
I’m speechless. Well, almost speechless: perhaps if the Super at the Astral makes enough money with his little pornography photography enterprise he will be able to afford these select digs in Floral Park? For reasons I cannot explain, this house somehow makes me think of him.
Miss Heather
Photo Credit: Queens Crap
Greenpoint Photo du Jour: 130 Greenpoint Avenue
Some of you might recognize the building in the background. Greenpoint’s first “hipster bar” Splendid, once inhabited this space. I celebrated a birthday there once. As was my habit at the time, I jammed the jukebox with Van Halen’s “Unchained”. Over and over. Strangely enough, the hipsters didn’t like it too much.
This, my, special occasion was capped by an exploding manhole. On Greenpoint Avenue, by virtue of Con Edison, not the ever glorious David Lee Roth.
One break, coming up!
Miss Heather
Passion Partiers Wanted in Greenpoint
I am not going to lie to you: during my 30-odd years of tip toeing along the primrose path of this mortal coil I have become prim. I have seen a lot of weird shit. Enough so to find what most people call “perverse” utterly devoid of interest. Unlike most of my fellow Greenpoint ‘nilla wifers, I seek boredom, not chocolate.
If there is one thing living (and working) in the Garden Spot will do to you, it is this: make you wish you didn’t know the sexual predilections of your neighbors. I learn about them regularly from my bedroom window. My husband often asks me why I am not that excited like “that woman”. I tell him because “that woman” isn’t married.
Bearing the previous in mind, you can imagine my utter revulsion upon finding the following at The Garden. I went to this local grocery store to buy lunch and nearly lost it before I even ate it. Greenpointus vomitus extremus retroactivus.
Maybe I am being old fashioned here, but whatever happened to going to ye olde sex shoppe to pump your junk?
Perhaps it is my post-feminism talking, but when I seek martial aides the sleazier the venue the better. The area around Penn Station has a number of establishments that cater to my effete brand of kink. Most have nudie booths and I like to hover around them to see who comes out. My husband finds this practice embarrassing. I, on the other hand, find it both educational and informative.
I want to see compellingly complex sexual gadgetry. The more Rube Goldberg-esque, the better. It’s sort of like putting together a puzzle or solving crosswordturd. I like challenging discoveries. I do not like discovering that one of my sexually-challenged neighbors craves a Roto-Cooter 2007 Deluxe in my living room. Over crab rangpoon.
Much like revenge, sex is a dish best served cold. Touchy-feely Fuckerware parties ruin it.
Does this mean if the hostess of said party sells a 10 inch dong she gets 1 inch back in “product”? WOW. She’d have to make at least ten sales to get what I have been told is “average” by the menfolk hereabouts (visual evidence contradicts their assertions, but I chock that up to the metric system). And I thought doing straight commission as a real estate broker was rough. I hope the lube is on the house.
Then again, you know what they say: everyone has a bullet with his (or her name on it). Maybe I should host a party and get mine? Oh wait, I already have one.
Miss Heather
Mr. Heather Gets His First Piece of Fan Mail!
Filed under: Area 51
New York Shitty reader Victoria writes:
…A belated Happy Anniversary to you and Mr. Heather. I’ll always appreciate how he gave Baby Wipes to me and all the other women when we exited the McCarren Park ladies room. That fella’s got real Boy Scout values!
Thank you Victoria. You might be interested to know that Mr. Heather was once a Boy scout. However, it should be noted I gave him orders to dispense said wipes (during a break at Forgotten-NY Tour 30) because my previous (and copious) research suggested said privy would be hygienically “inadequate”.
Then again, Mr. Heather received orders and actually bothered to follow them. This is a rarity, so perhaps he does deserve a moment of recognition?
There, he just had it.
Mr. Heather has a number of talents. Information technology is one of them. Handing out baby wipes is another. Making our living room smell like ass while making our bedroom smell like dirty feet* is his current avocation.
He is a true Renaissance man.
Miss Heather
*I know it’s him. I never emit foul odors. My farts smell like angel’s breath.
Behold, The Other Face of Pistilli Realty!
Having learned from my good buddy over at Greenpointers that some mischievous scamp has seen fit to post an ad on Craigslist admonishing people against moving into the Astral, I thought it might be interesting to share a few photos I took of Pistilli’s Co-op Crapfest in Astoria yesterday. Here they are.
It’s big.
Really, really big. Per Wired New York’s forum, this turd has 188 units.
And if the above fanfare is any indication, they are almost ready for occupancy!
Wouldn’t it be interesting if some “shame on you” type news show asked the shills Pistilli hired to sell this crap if it will have bedbugs and scantily clad ‘models’ like his other property? A property, I will add, which is a registered historic landmark that (per ACRIS) appears to have been mortgaged repeatedly so as to finance the above masterpiece.
Just a thought.
It’s tough being a developer. So the next time any of you Astral tenants whine about mold or bedbugs, be advised that it costs a lot of money to make something look this cheap. Shit, the money Pistilli outlaid on stucco alone is probably equal to the gross domestic product of a developing country.
Or two.
Miss Heather
P.S.: The address for the above development can found by clicking here lest anyone reading this is curious.
P.S. #2: I’d also like to give a big New York Shitty shout-out to my buddies at Bedbuggers for calling Greenpoint “the good-blog capital of Brooklyn”. Thanks!
P.S.#3: I forgot to post this photo of the ass(ier) end of Pistilli Riverview East. Here it is.
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